Fatemeh Ghanbari was unmarried, yet she played the role of a devoted mother for all her family members, especially her nieces and nephews. Her every thought was how to arrange her salary so it would be directly transferred to them. She used to say, “I don’t need anything, but these young ones and children need more than I do.” Her kindness knew no bounds—a love now revived only through memories and the little phrases she left behind.

Martyr Fatemeh Ghanbari loved nature. In her hometown of Delijan, she had created a small flower garden, nurturing the flowers with the same love with which she gave meaning to life. She also loved mountain climbing. The day before the incident, she had gone into the mountains with her family, as if bidding her final farewell to the earth, willingly, through nature.

What distinguished her most was her sense of responsibility. It was not her work shift on the day of the incident, but when a colleague could not come to work, Fatemeh returned to Tehran despite knowing the possibility of Israeli attacks on various areas, took her colleague’s place, and never returned.

When the missile attack on Evin Prison occurred, no one initially believed that her name would be among the martyrs. Calls went unanswered, and searches yielded nothing.

The ring that identified the sister

Even the forensic photos of Fatemeh’s body did not help in identifying her. Her face was completely covered in soot and dust. Ultimately, the only thing that confirmed her identity for the family was a photo of her burned body showing the ring on her hand, seen in forensic images among other charred bodies. Her brother’s trembling and careful gaze among the pictures recognized his sister.

She had a close connection with Basiji sisters and active women in cultural affairs at the local mosque. Her home was next to the mosque, which had become the gathering place for her night prayers and jihadist activities.

According to her brother, during the peak days of attacks, when she heard that Iran had launched missile strikes in response to Israeli aggression, she was filled with such excitement as if she herself were in the ranks of those responding.

The funeral of Martyr Fatemeh was not held with her elderly parents’ hands, as she had become a mother figure for her siblings after the passing of her parents. She lived with maternal care and, in the end, was martyred in her own innocence.

Her brother said: “When we first saw her body at the Martyrs’ Hall, her face had a special calmness. There was no sign of fear or pain. It was as if she had gone willingly, knowing where she was going.”

According to one of her sisters, in a dream, Fatemeh appeared and said: “I have a borrowed earring; you must return it to Zahra (her niece).” She then smiled, raised her hand in a sign of farewell, and said: “I have gone now. Goodbye.”

Martyr Fatemeh Ghanbari was not just a simple employee at Evin Prison; she was an exemplar of the Iranian Muslim woman—a woman whose faith, courage, selflessness, and love for people were woven into her being. Her name is now recorded alongside other martyrs of the righteous path, but her memory remains alive in the hearts of those who were nourished by her love and compassion.